All that Matters is Who

He lies asleep on the bed.
Before I left, he had appeared at peace.
But now he won’t ever wake again.

When they ask me to enter the house,
I clutch my head and dab my eyes
Because I know I won’t go in again.

“We need your help to understand.”
They want me to go deep inside his inner thoughts
To help try to see why he did what he did.

But all I can see is the memory of his pale body:
The frame which no longer holds the man I loved.

“We need you to answer some questions.”
I hate how they kneel beside me.
“We promise it won’t take much time.”

But I won’t- I can’t- hear them.
I’m absorbed in my pounding heart.
I’m caught up in my ringing ears.

“We need you to tell us what happened.”
They inch closer and touch my sweating palms.

I stare at the mass of investigators- of strangers-
…And I feel alone.

The truth is I don’t know “why”
He did what he did.
The fact is I don’t understand
Why they are even here:

They can’t answer my questions.
They can’t ease this pain.

Does “why” really matter?
Does “how” really matter?
Does “when” even matter?

When all that matters is “who,”
You find a mystery you don’t want solved.

--Written by Sandy Heights
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